


Packing For A Maybe

by Tani



Category: Soldier Son - Robin Hobb
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 04:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tani/pseuds/Tani
Summary: The day that Nevare left, Yaril packed her suitcase.





	Packing For A Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I read these books, but I believe this is set during the second book, after Nevare's second time leaving home. Enjoy!

The day that Nevare left, Yaril packed her suitcase. She knew that it was a futile gesture. She knew that she'd have no reason to use it still for months, if not years. If she had reason to use it all. Still, she packed her suitcase.

First, she put the few books that she owned, mostly dogeared stories that she'd read over and over again. She already knew their contents, almost by heart, but she still wasn't ready to lose them, and who knew what action her father would take now, having driven off Nevare? Better to have them tucked out of sight.

Next, she chose a few pieces of jewelry, taken guiltily from Mother and Elisi's rooms. They were her family and it was probably her right, but again, there was Father. She had a feeling that his presence, already so large in her life, was going to become gargantuan in the days and weeks to come. Her best bet would be to slip under the radar, and that meant removing anything that could qualify as incriminating, even things that she'd originally thought of as innocent.

Her favorite new dress was third. She'd made it while father languished in his rooms, a way to keep her hands busy when she had a spare moment, and a thing to look forward to in the darkness of the days. It had come out wonderfully. She'd worn it twice now, once the day that she finished it, and once a few weeks ago on Sixday. Father would not approve of it, she was sure, so away it went.

Looking around her rooms, she didn't see much else that she thought she would take with her. The dresses were those of a noble, and she knew that, should Nevare find a place for her, it would not be at the same status that she was at now. She'd have no use for such fancy things. The same went for her scarves, her hats, her slippers. Nothing was practical. Nothing was useful. If Nevare called for her today, she would be nothing more than a pretty bauble to display in whatever home he had managed to scrape together. What use had she? What practical skills?

Dizzied by her own worthlessness, she sank down on the bed. The tears that she'd been trying so desperately to hold back came to the fore once more. Yaril buried her face in her hands, shoulders heaving, trying to make the least amount of noise that she could. She needed to be small right now. She couldn't let anyone see her hurt because they might just take it as an invitation to hurt her more.

The next day, she would make her way to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning, before her father was likely to be up, and cajole the cook into teaching her how to bake bread. In the afternoon, while her father napped, she might learn another recipe, or maybe pore over the books that housed the Burvelle finances. Keeping the books straight was always a useful skill to have. In the days and weeks ahead, she might practice some knitting, a skill that she'd never had much time for, but that might prove useful during a winter without enough heat. She'd talk Sergeant Duril into teaching her some of his herblore, and she'd practice her hand. Scribing was a salable talent, or so she'd been told.

Little by little, she would chip away at her uselessness, so that when Nevare called for her, she wouldn't be just dead weight.

But, just for tonight, she would cry.


End file.
